


An Empathetic Response

by Callisto



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coda, Comfort, Episode: s06e19 Mommy Dearest, M/M, Season/Series 06, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Castiel: “Pardon me for highlighting their crippling and dangerous empathetic response with sarcasm.”<br/>- 6.19 ‘Mommy Dearest’-</i></p><p><i>Right now he’s heartsore in a way he hasn’t been since Ruby. Because apparently Cas might not be on the side of angels anymore, and Crowley – fucking <i>Crowley</i> – is still in the picture. Oh, and his mom bit him. Hard. To say nothing of his heart strings being ruthlessly tugged on by a couple of doe-eyed boys who ended up eating their uncle.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	An Empathetic Response

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoJo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJo/gifts).



> Thanks to Ancasta for the beta.

Dean has had sex in showers. Of course he has. He’s had backrubs and blowjobs and many a girl wrapped around him while warm water cascaded over his shoulders. Cleanliness and sex. There’s nothing else a shower is for. Which is why he’s taken aback when Sam steps in with him when they finally stop that night. Especially since all he’s done for the last six hours of driving, is bite Sam’s head off and ignore him.

Not that he meant to. It’s just it’s hard to talk when you’re grinding your teeth and white-knuckling the steering wheel.

So he’s not really expecting Sam’s instant forgiveness on the sex front. As for the cleanliness thing, Dean has been managing soap and hot water all by himself since... He rubs his neck, cuts that train of thought right the fuck off.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice is soft in his ear, his lips press down where Dean’s hand was.

Where her teeth were.

Dean hangs his head.

Normally he would love nothing better than to go a couple of rounds in some hot water with his brother. Sam does this thing where he’ll lift Dean and fuck him slowly against the tiles. Dean would never say out loud how hot it is to give up like that, to just have the floor taken out from under his feet for a while. Since Sam never calls him a girl for it and it’s only happened twice, Dean is willing to tilt his head back and literally enjoy the ride.

But right now he’s heartsore in a way he hasn’t been since Ruby. Because apparently Cas might not be on the side of angels anymore, and Crowley – fucking _Crowley_ – is still in the picture. Oh, and his mom bit him. Hard. To say nothing of his heart strings being ruthlessly tugged on by a couple of doe-eyed boys who ended up eating their uncle.

So all things considered, Dean would really like to finish his shower and put this crappy day to bed.

Behind him Sam’s hands are on his hips, and as much as his dick twitches at the thought of what could happen next, his head knows that Sam will be here come breakfast time, soul and emo still wonderfully intact. Maybe Dean can offer to blow Sam in the morning instead, help build up an appetite for pancakes.

He turns to do just that, only to have his wet head slapped and the soap taken out of his hands.

“Hey!”

“Not everything is sex, moron.”

“I didn’t... Sam—”

“Relax.” Another kiss on his shoulder once Sam has turned him back around. Followed by the press of Sam’s fingers into the knots there. “I got this,” Sam says.

Dean wants to protest, he does. Especially when Sam’s soaped up hands start working their way down the muscles of his back. “You stop now and I’ll kill you,” he mumbles instead.

Of course his dick takes an interest. Tired or not, this is Sam being handsy and wet and so fucking good to him he has no choice but to slide the hand holding the soap against his chest down and down...

Sam chuckles against the side of his throat. “You’re feeling better.”

Dean thunks his head back on Sam’s collarbone.

“Ow. Do that again and I’ll stop.”

Dean smiles and stays right where he is. The spray is doing wonders for his tired muscles and Sam is, well, Sam is doing his own particular brand of wonder. Dean closes his eyes and swallows when Sam starts up a delicious glide and twist of his talented fingers.

He bites his lip in concentration, digs the back of his head onto Sam a little more. “Love your fucking hands on me. Use your whole...yeah...like that.” He rolls his hips up and up, until he’s almost slipping on tiptoes in the hot water pooling at their feet.

Dean reaches up and back through the pounding spray for Sam’s neck. Because hell, if he’s giving up his crappy day like this, then it’s going out in style.

“Dean...” Sam groans, tongue sliding on the skin at Dean’s temple. He almost loses his footing. “Careful, I can’t—”

“You...started it,” pants Dean. “Fucking...c’mere.”

One of Dean’s favorite things in the whole wide world is being kissed while someone’s hand is wrapped around his dick. And when that someone is Sam, with the height and the hands and the gun callouses in all the right places, Dean has been known to bliss out until his toes curl.

“Kiss...me,” he manages, just to be crystal clear when Sam reaches across and pinches a nipple instead.

Sam bends his head to find Dean’s mouth, but the angle is awkward and Dean hears the groan for what it is, so he takes them forward until his face leaves the spray. Then he wraps his left hand around the nape of Sam’s slick strong neck and just hauls him down.

He doesn’t last – the water is too hot, Sam is too there and Dean is just too damn turned on by the coordinated dance of Sam’s tongue and hand. It’s barely a minute later when he spills, panting nonsense into Sam’s mouth he’ll deny until his dying day. Sam breaks the kiss and ducks his forehead onto Dean’s shoulder, riding the groove of Dean’s ass. He speeds up the roll and snap of his hips and Dean would reach around, maybe even fall to his knees and finish him off in his mouth. But it’s all he can do to brace his arms on the now cooling wet tiles and give Sam some much needed resistance.

“God, Dean. Right there, Just...don’t move...don’t fucking move.”

Dean’s not planning on going anywhere. Well, not unless his noodle-legs do something really girly and dump him on his ass. But then he’ll just pull Sam down and pretend it’s a move, so he’s covered.

Sam is getting close, breathing hot and heavy nonsense into Dean’s hair. “Got you...Dean. I got you. Nearly...there...ohmyjesussufferingfuck...”

Sam gets inventively profane when he comes. And he also likes to bite. Dean’s neck, throat, lips, wherever. Dean feels Sam still behind him, feels Sam’s head jerk so he braces himself...but Sam only kisses him. Mouth and tongue all worshipping and sweet, like only Sam can get away with. And it’s right _there_ , where she had him torn and bloody just a few hours ago.

Dean does not cry during sex.

It’s been a long fucking day, and he’s tired is all.

 

By the time Sam makes it out of the bathroom Dean is on his side and drifting nicely under the covers. The other bed is full of crap that Sam adds to with a wet towel before he climbs in and spoons up behind Dean.

“Sam...” It’s half-hearted but heartfelt. Most times they do end up in a bed each for the actual sleeping part.

“I _bathed_ you. You can indulge me.”

“Dude, you sing me a lullaby or even think about cradling anything in those paws of yours—

“Dean.” Sam leans up on an elbow and Dean feels himself getting peered at. “You’re being a dick. Settle.”

Dean contemplates wriggling indignantly for about five seconds before he caves. “Fine. Just don’t get all shocked when I kick your gigantor ass to the floor at some point.”

“Yeah, yeah, tough guy. I’ll cope.”

A few drowsy minutes pass, and Dean has to admit that Sam’s arm slung low around his hips and his breath warm and damp in his hair may be the perfect way to cap this shitty day after all.

Which, of course, brings said shitty day right back...

“What?”

“Nothing.” Dean is not explaining why he just apparently sighed out loud.

But now that it’s there, he’s gotta ask. Because Sam is always the one he’s going to pin his questions on. He trusts Bobby like no other hunter. But only if Sam says so can he stop picking at this. Stop letting it piss him off so much.

“You really think Castiel could trick us like that? For a demon like Crowley?” Tricked _me_ is what he doesn’t say, but that’s what his head is hammering into his heart and skin like a nail, seering through that long ago hand print he’s worn with an odd sense of pride, revulsion, and gratitude ever since he learned one more being out there cared enough to grip him tight.

Sam slides his hand off Dean’s hips and Dean’s heart sinks a little. This is clearly not going to be the sweeping ‘don’t be ridiculous’ speech he was hoping for.

And true to form, Sam takes his time before answering. “I don’t know. Really, I don’t.” Dean sways as Sam rolls away and Dean can picture him on his back, blinking seriously at the ceiling. Sam is quiet for so long that when his voice comes Dean starts.

“Back when I first got topside, standing there watching you all from the street outside the house, it’s like... It’s like sometimes I remember him there.”

“Sam...”

“Dude, I’m not scratching, seriously I’m not. I told you, they’re just flashes. But it doesn’t matter anyway because you’re right, Dean. This is _Cas_. The guy who raised you from perdition, and who even tried to hug me. Me, the guy who blew him apart with a snap of my fngers. No way he does this to us.”

“He tried to hug you?”

“At Bobby’s. He had no idea what to do with his hands, and it was beyond awkward. But yeah.”

Bizarrely, this makes Dean feel better.

He turns around onto his left side until he’s facing Sam, who’s still on his back. He keeps one hand firmly under his cheek and one laid flat on the pillow, even though all he wants to do is stretch out and...

“Sam, what’re you—"

“Shut up.” Sam has taken Dean’s right hand off the pillow, is busy bringing it to his lips, for fuck’s sake. He kisses— _kisses_ —the back of Dean’s fingers before laying the hand palm down on his own chest. He smiles, eyes closed. “I told you. Indulge me.”

Dean’s heart expands with something monumental and stupid and utterly beyond his control. A wall, a tour of hell a piece, a year spent drunk dry-walling, another spent trying not to want a serial killer, and still it’s only Sam who can do this to him. Only Sam who can take the weird shit in their lives, and make it matter less by throwing his own brand of weird into the mix.

“Psychic freak,” Dean mutters, right into the skin on Sam’s shoulder.

“Macho asshole,” says Sam right back.

Now Dean is smiling.

It’s not bitch/jerk, but it’s close enough.

******  



End file.
